Talon and Fang
by Tachy0n
Summary: Talon is the consummate assassin - cunning, immoral and Noxian. But an ordinary job gone wrong will place him in the most dangerous of situations as he is forced to delve deeper into the underworld of Noxus in search for the answers to his master's disappearance, and struggle against the darkest forces of the city itself, including a killer that is as deadly as him.
1. Business As Usual

Update 13/04/ - minor word changes, some grammar errors fixed. A few phrases were omitted because I found them a bit ghastly.

Chapter 1: Business As Usual

'So how do you want to do this?'

'My way.'

They were standing on the balcony of the Black Boar. Below, customers stepped into the bordello, enticed with the prospect of wine and drugs and warm flesh. Unlike them, Talon had come for pleasure but instead found that there was business to be done. He wasn't wearing his assassin gear but open-collared shirt, jacket and rugged trousers. Nevertheless, as Zane glanced at him, it was not hard to remember that he was standing next to one of the best killers of this city-state, all coiled violence and professional wariness with the way Talon leant against the railing, eyes scanning the crowd below, the windows and roofs of nearby buildings and occasionally, as he shifted, behind him to assuage himself that no one had silently entered the room. The bordello's owner was willing to bet his own purse that Talon still carried at least half a dozen daggers in addition to the shortsword slung through his belt.

'I don't want deaths, Talon,' Zane stated. 'It's bad for business.'

'An example must be made to keep the others in line. You warned him once before and he didn't listen.' Talon answered grimly. 'You hired a killer, not a thug. Send your bashers in if you merely want to leave him alive with bruises come the dawn but don't insult me and take me for one of them.'

'Does every job have to be a killing for you?'

'I'm an assassin. It's my business to kill.'

Zane toyed with a strand of his elaborately coiled hair. Half a minute passed as Talon maintained his gaze outward whilst his client and friend thought it over. Eventually Zane sighed and said 'You're right. The man has had too many chances. A killing it will have to be then.' He turned and strode back into the office, sitting down at his desk which was littered with parchment and small books with a quill in an inkpot at the side. Talon followed him back in. The room was designed with simplicity and cheapness in mind, desk and stools of lacquered brown wood, floor rows of planked wood and walls painted grey. The bordello owner himself however wore his money on his rings and clothing of the latest fashion, looking close to nobility himself with his styled hair, aristocratic face and perfect teeth. He was penning something down. 'He often hangs around the slums, building connections with the guilds. He's already friends with Claw of the Alley Cats, so I suggest you start there.'

Talon nodded. 'I'll take care of it.'

'I won't question your methods. Just remember that I asked for you, not the Sinister Blade.' Zane sighed and set the quill aside. 'I don't mean any disrespect, but she's too volatile and she's just not you,' he quipped.

Talon gave a small smile. Where some might say his step-sister was driven with patriotic fervour for Noxus and a vampire's thirst for blood, he himself embodied cold professionalism. Hence his clients tended to affiliate with the underworld and hers the military of High Command, for criminals and crooked businessmen preferred a hired killer like himself, a former street rat whose experienced what they've experienced, rather than a well-bred daughter who played with daggers at her estate and never known the greed and the hunger and the squalor of Noxus, where killing was only done if it at least got you a crust of bread or a purse with some copper coins in it. 'Despite all evidence to the contrary, Miss de Couteau is more than capable of restraint when the situation calls for it,' he replied.

'I'll take your word for it. Which reminds me: why are you still here?'

* * *

That evening, the Blade's Shadow perched himself amongst the rooftops of the buildings of Noxus's slums, clad in dark cloak and voluminous hood, belted with his gear. He left his signature weapon behind – the large angular blade strapped to his wrist. It'd do no good for an assassin to carry around such a conspicuous weapon that had come to identify him by its presence, to be synonymous with his reputation. It became something Talon deemed exclusive for his appearances at the Institute of War and amongst the League.

He shifted as he made out a series of figures walking down the rundown streets and on the cobbled roads littered with garbage, amongst hobbling cripples, whores on their way back or to work and other shady characters. The odour of the sewers was strong even from here but Talon minded it not, for this place used to be his home. One of the figures he recognised, based upon the description he was given. Claw had proven very cooperative during the conversation that Talon had with him. It looks like the information was accurate.

He stood up, sending nearby crows flying in the air, squawking in fright. He swiftly navigated his way down to ground level, hands and feet alone, the only way a former denizen of the street would know. Sliding down a wall to fall silently amidst the trash and filth dumped in a backstreet in a sunken crouch, Talon readied a dagger, half sliding it out of its sheath, feeling it rasp against the leather.

Time to kill.

* * *

Ralyn paused and glanced up at the air as crows squawked and flew into the dark evening sky, disturbed by something. He was disturbed. It was cold and he wore thick furs and a heavy cloak, yet the shivers still came.

'You're alright sir?' One of his bodyguards ventured questioningly. 'Is something to matter?'

'No. It's nothing.' Ralyn shook his head slightly. 'Nothing at all.' He fell back into step with his men but he kept a hand on the hilt of his dagger as he did so. He'd recently being acting like this, for reasons he can't discern. Business has been going well for him. His businesses have been doing well these past few weeks. Customers have been flowing in, leaving his competitors thanks to the additions he's been making to his establishments: new slot machines purchased from Zaun and crates of good Demacian wine smuggled across the border – say what you will about that stuck up city-state, but they do know how to make good wine. He even announced a pair of Ionian youths will be working at one of his brothels, a boy and girl of exotic beauty stolen from the island across the sea.

Was he afraid of his competitors? That would make sense. But Ralyn knew he'd appeased their fears, offering to collude with them against their own enemies. Besides, he himself has powerful friends, backing from some of the underworld's elite. To hurt him is to hurt them and if anything, that should guarantee his safety.

So why does he still continue to feel uneasy?

* * *

Talon breathed soundlessly, watching his breath wrap the air in small white wisps. Cold out, he thought. Give it a few seconds. In his mind, he watched his prey, traced their path, timing for his appearance.

Now.

He stood up from his crouch and stepped out of the backstreet. He turned his head to the right, and saw the backs of his quarry.

Five men – it was the one in the middle he wanted.

Maybe it was caution or paranoia. Maybe it was dumb luck. But it was to no fault of Talon, no sound that he made for he was always silent, that Ralyn turned around and glanced back, eyes rapidly flitting from surprise to comprehension to fear as Talon's hand rose up and back, the killing intent clear.

Talon gestured, and four daggers appeared as if by magic in his hand, each held with the hilt firmly between the fingers and thumb.

Ralyn pulled out his dagger and yelled something out in warning as Talon threw his hand forward.

The rearmost one barely had time to react as the dagger found him right between the eyes. His compatriot had his sword half out, swearing before the next dagger plunged into his neck. Cut off with a gurgle, he let go of his blade, clutching for his throat. Blood spurted and between them Ralyn stumbled backwards, falling on his rear.

The third and fourth daggers were already in the air, streaking towards the remaining two guards. One took it in the back with a shudder, falling onto his knees. The other twisted round and leapt forward, quickness propelling him to the side and in front of Ralyn to protect him. The last dagger stuck into his shoulder – a non-lethal wound. He was unlimbering a small crossbow from his back, experience telling in his movement, as he had out in moments smoothly.

But moments could have been hours, for Talon was already moving, his short sword already unsheathed and held low. Closing the distance rapidly, he lunged and knocked the crossbow upwards. There was a clack of a mechanism, and the bolt harmlessly flew out into the air. Talon stepped to the side, swung his blade along the man's throat, a clean across, and the last bodyguard flew up and to the side.

Ralyn got to his feet unsteadily. His dagger was still in his hand but he looked uncertain as to how to use it, frozen with fear as if he'd forgotten. The poor man. Talon didn't give him time to remember. He rushed him and knocked him down, a backhand blow, the sword cutting him across the face. As Ralyn screeched in pain on the ground, Talon brought his blade up and swept it down, ending his cry of agony.

Then he was moving, sword wiped clean off a corpse's cloak, already flying back into its sheath. Talon glanced around and swiftly, one by one, retrieved daggers, barely grimacing as he yanked them out and wiped them clean of blood before sheathing them.

He walked away, leaving the five corpses behind in the middle of the empty cobbled road.

Squawks sounded above, excited nasal caws. Crows floated down from the air, drawn by the wafting scent of Death, carrion-eaters having found themselves a meal. They landed on the ground, hopping and cocking their heads as they took in the scene. One had already perched itself upon Ralyn's chest. The man's eyes lifelessly open. Without warning, the crow pecked at them.

But the birds weren't the only scavengers in the city. Beggars and cripples hobbled and stumbled out of the shadows and nearby alleys, drawn by the sounds. They fought off the birds, swearing and cursing as they stripped the corpses of clothes and gold.

Nothing goes to waste in Noxus.


	2. Dead Child, Dark Rain

Chapter 2: Dead Child, Dark Rain

It was raining.

Katarina De Couteau watched from under her hood as the convoy of caravans and travellers were slowly inspected and let in one by one into Noxus. Many were turned away, forced to return by the road they came. Some were obviously diseased – the lepers and the like. She shied away from those, curling her nose at the sight of them with distaste. They ought to have died a long time ago, Katarina thought disgustedly. Others were merely disfigured and crippled and yet to Katarina, they represented weakness, the weakness and waste that Noxus should do without. However, when looking at the crying children and their disheartened parents with their rags and grime, faces downcast, she can't help but glance away, something tingling in her throat, something stirring in a part of her she long considered empty. Everyone who went past her had the end of a sad story marked in their appearance. But Noxus did not want more mouths to feed and rely on its charity, the redhead told herself. For new beginnings, this city was not the place. The weak don't belong; only the strong. She nudged her gelding forwards as the line moved on.

A hand grabbed at her stirrup. She stalled her horse and glanced down, to meet a weak smile and pleading eyes set in a dirty face with matted hair.

'Please, good mistress. Do you have food to spare for the road?' The wreck of a man asked, fingers shaking from the downpour of cold rain.

Katarina wordlessly shook her head and kneed her mount into a trot. The man's fingers fell away and he bowed his head slightly in understanding before shuffling down the line, fighting through the mud with his bare feet to reach the rider behind her. Katarina looked at him and his hunched back, whether a mishap of birth or circumstance she couldn't tell. She returned her stare forwards as she heard him distantly repeat his question with the same beseeching intonations.

Minutes later, as she neared the front, she heard a scream at the city gates and the sound of men swearing. She saw a woman run away from the front of the line, away from the guards who blocked her entrance in. She was howling gibberish. She clutched something in front of her in a bundle of old clothing. As she came down the line, Katarina realised that it was the sunken corpse of a baby child, only a few weeks old and dead for days. The woman must not have noticed that till she got to the gates. Maybe she deluded herself into thinking otherwise, that her child was asleep and not already gone. How desperate she must have been, Katarina thought, to cling so blindly to her beliefs. How pitiful. She stared back as the figure of the mother grew smaller as she stumbled away, howling in her grief.

'Move along now! Don't hold up the line there, you dolt!'

Katarina blinked. The wagon in front of her had already passed through the gates, thirty paces ahead. Those behind her had already taken advantage of her pondering to take her place. She hurriedly spurred her gelding forward, rushing past them. A traveller cursed and leapt out of the path of her mount as she reined in her horse at the front of the gates.

One of the guards came forward, a broad-brimmed hat and oiled cloak protecting him from the rain which was now becoming a torrent, the thunder of a storm rumbling beginning to roar. He held a lantern up with one gauntleted hand. 'Business?' He asked boredly, peering at her.

'I'm with High Command.' Katarina leant forward on her saddle, so that the light of the lantern would reach below her hood, illuminating her features.

The guard's eyes took her in warily. As far as appearances go, the rain and the dust of the road made her look merely dishevelled and tired, rather than striking and exquisite as she appeared in League matches. She also wasn't the first redhead the guard had seen with green eyes and a small scar near one eye. Nevertheless, he nodded. 'Miss De Couteau I take it. Welcome home. I trust your trip was pleasant?' He asked, his voice giving every indication he didn't care.

'I had better.' Katarina replied irritably. She didn't wait, kicking her horse into a trot past the guard who, taking his cue, moved aside and called for his colleagues to let her through. The guards standing in front of the gate blocking it stood and led their mounts aside to let her through. One threw a mocking salute as she rode forward. 'Salutations to the Sinister Blade,' another muttered sarcastically to himself.

Years ago, Katarina would have taken them for all being insolent and dismounted, daggers drawn to teach them respect. But that was then and now she would like to think she'd matured a bit, despite what others may claim. She also had neither the time nor the patience. That's why instead she spurred her gelding into a run for the gates, the horse's hooves hitting the ground made soft with rain and sending a spray of mud up in the air. There were shouts of surprise and anger behind her as the guards were hit with globs of the sludge and muck, they cursing and swearing at her actions. Nevertheless, Katarina's mind was already on other thoughts as she rode into the city – that of the man begging for food, the reporting of her completed assignment and above all, the grief-stricken mother holding the skeleton of her baby.

She can't wait to get out of this rain.

* * *

Talon ran on the slated rooftops of the buildings through the city, barely caring for the rain. He could occasionally hear the sounds of laughter and music as he passed over an inn or a home, an atmosphere of warmth and friendliness within the rooms below his feet. Noxus was a grim place, but Talon noticed that its citizens still do find their happiness, the moments though plentiful, were all too brief when compared with the seemingly lengthy and bleak lives they had to lead every day. People needed laughter and music to ward off their demons, even if the music was badly played and the jokes those of gallows humour, darkly comical and morbid. Because without them, they would-

Someone was following him.

Talon halted and spun around, hand on the hilt of his sword. His eyesight was excellent – the General complimented it to be on par with an eagle – and yet, as he peered around, seeking for his tracker in the torrent of rain and the shroud of darkness over the city, he knew what he might have discerned in the daylight would now easily elude him if he was not careful. He waited there on the middle of the roof of a seven-storey building, standing still without the slightest shiver from the cold seeping through his wet garments. He methodically scanned the scenery, taking in everything, searching for anything that resembled the silhouette of his tracker.

Second by second, half an hour trickled by.

Talon still saw nothing. The rain had soaked through his clothing to his skin and his body felt the cramps from being forced to remain so still. But he continued to wait, perched in a crouch. Come on, Talon thought, come out and play, the night is still young.

Then there was a brief shift of movement to the right of his vision.

Talon ducked, sensing more than seeing something flit out and through the pouring rain to fly past the empty air where his head had been. Talon drew a dagger and threw it in the direction the projectile came from.

Then he leapt backwards. There was the clang of metal hitting metal as a cloaked and hooded figure landed in a crouch where Talon previously was, his blade striking the slate of the roof. As the figure straightened, Talon lunged forward, his sword clearing his sheath with a low hiss and engaging his foe's. As their blades locked with a screech of steel on steel, lightning flashed nearby, giving Talon a glimpse of his foe's teeth bared in a grin of delight.

Thunder clapped. The fight was on.

* * *

'And you say this is everything?' Zane gazed down as he directed his question to the loading master. Anger rolled from his voice. The cages they were found in were designed more for penning beasts than the two Ionians. Despite that, they seemed relatively unharmed and unscathed from their trips, clean as they were. They both sat before him, cross-legged, hugging cloaks to themselves to preserve their modesty. One girl and one boy, the pair stared at him with rapt attention. They knew him to now be the decider of their fates and the fact made Zane feel more uncomfortable than he thought he would be. 'Well?' He turned around.

'Just these two, the Zaunite slot machines and some crates of Demacian wine.' The loading master answered, spitting on the ground to demonstrate his attitude to Demacians. 'All here, stacked right before you,' he said beckoning to the two youths and the half-a-dozen crates and containers behind them in the middle of the warehouse.

Zane glanced around, taking in the sight of the numerous other cargo cluttered around. He returned his gaze to the two before him, unsure as to how to deal with them, his mouth dry and mind indecisive. If he were a slaver, than he would have judged these two to be fine specimens. They were both young and comely, with lithe builds and raven hair. Despite slavery being outlawed by the mandate of the Institute of War, there still existed lucrative lack markets in all the city-states. The two would both have turned for an extremely handsome profit, either as servants for the rich merchants and the families of Houses or as trained workers for one of the nicer brothels and cathouses outside the slums. Ralyn definitely intended the latter if Zane's information was correct. Then again, judging from their trim builds, he wouldn't put it past them to know some degree of martial training, which would make breaking them in to work quite difficult to the point of being virtually impossible. He also doubted that they would live long enough at their occupations before either one of them or both of them committed suicide for that matter. It has happened before. Not to mention the fact that he had to report these two to the authorities or risk getting implicated with slavery along with the most likely dead Ralyn. These were the reasons his mind argued for him to walk away, and yet, another part of his brain saw only the profit, urging for him to take this opportunity. Then, there was his conscious, which yelled at him to do the right thing, whatever that meant.

'Uh, sir? What shall we do with them?' the loading master ventured tentatively.

Zane glanced back at him. 'I'll be taking these two. Keep everything else, and fence it away quietly. The owner of this cargo is dead so don't worry about explaining the disappearance of his goods to him.'

'Very good, sir,' the corrupt loading master said, greed illuminating his eyes. 'Might I be right in thinking that we're to never speak of this to anyone?'

'Most definitely.' Zane agreed. 'This stuff was never here.' By morning, the records of the cargo will be conveniently lost or altered and the dockhands who brought them in bribed to seemly forget every detail if ever questioned about this.

As the loading master left, calling for his workers, Zane's men helped the Ionians up and led them out of the warehouse. The girl turned around and stared at him, her brown eyes narrowed. Zane met them squarely.

She broke eye contact first and stepped outside of the warehouse into the night.

* * *

The slippery and uneven surface of the roof made one's balance precarious and the heavy rain and near-pitch black darkness impaired one's sight, restricting it to the length of one's arm. Fighting would be a difficult prospect in such conditions. Nevertheless, Talon and his adversary easily adapted to the moment, their training reflected in their retaining of their solid footwork and formidable swordplay despite the circumstances. The fight was solely a competition of swordsmanship and no opportunity emerged for them to proceed otherwise and utilise what other weapons they may possess in their arsenal.

Talon was getting frustrated. The bout had been proceeding for a minute and yet they are not equally matched, for in the back of Talon's mind, he anxiously realised that his foe was gradually driving him to retreat backwards to the edge of the roof. He parried, parried again, riposted, feinted, lunged but in the end he would only be forced to give more ground, his opponent's defence steadfast.

_He's better than me_, Talon thought. A sliver faster and a sliver more skilled but it will make all the difference here. He gritted his teeth.

His foe suddenly made a misstep, the movement causing him to stumble on forward.

Talon wasted no time and with one hand moving to his belt, sent a dagger bursting out of its sheath. At the same time, he darted in to slash at his opponent's-

There was a sudden halt to his momentum. There was the sound of his dagger skittering along the roof, knocked away. Talon realised that his opponent had locked his sword somehow. There was another flash of lightning and gave Talon a brief glimpse of what had happened. _Hooked blades_ Talon thought as he took in the bent ends of his adversary's swords. Together, they served to trap Talon's blade in between them, like a cage. _I've been played._

That brief moment of surprise costed him as he was a shade too slow, letting go of his sword and retreating, only to feel pain flare in his chest and arm as he felt the blade cut him. As his foe advanced upon him, swords upraised, Talon stumbled backwards.

He fell off the roof.

As he plummeted Talon saw the storeys rapidly pass him and knew he was about to meet the ground head-first.

It was a long way down.


End file.
